Vintage Colt, Pearl Grips
by SYuuri
Summary: "You go home in one piece, Sammy. Outlive those Al-Qaeda and this will be yours. A welcome home present, if you will." xX Oneshot Xx


**Vintage Colt, Pearl Grips**

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**Disclaimer: You'll know what mine and what's not. **

**:: First Flashpoint story (or any story, for that matter) in 2011. Did you guys see Collateral Damage? I was so happy to see Flashpoint back and Sammy was more Samtastic than ever! **

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It was almost dark outside and droplets of rain were running down the windows in silver rivulets that reflected the lights from the street lamps and the neighboring buildings.

Making a mental note to talk to the building manager about the heater, Sam turned on the coffeemaker in the kitchen before heading out to the study-room. Located just half an hour cycling (twenty if the traffic decided to be nice and fifteen when he still had his dear old car) from HQ, the two room apartment was more than he'd hoped. After serving in the military for quite a while, having no pleasure of sleeping on soft mattress and watching Canucks beat Oilers, he supposed he had no problems dealing with heater-free apartment for a day or two.

_As long as it gets fixed before December. Unless you want to freeze your ass off._

The empty space was originally planned to be a guest room, just in case his friends or God helped him, his old man decided to drop by to spend some quality father-son bonding time. The arrangement changed at the last minute and the room was transformed into a study-room, completed with two bookshelves, a second hand mahogany desk and a brand-new recliner, as well as a replica of Van Gogh's _Starry Night_. He still had a futon tucked somewhere, again, just in case his dad was willing to give up Four Seasons for the pallid white painted room.

Now several months had gone by and he hadn't had a single visitor but Jules who had never really bothered to make use of the neglected spare mattress. Not that he was complaining.

He padded barefooted to his desk and sat back for a while, staring at the clean table. He should add something… a homey touch. Probably a picture of his family or his sister. One of him and Matt, perhaps. Reminiscent of the good times and a constant reminder of what he was waking up every morning for.

Sadly, more often than not, he figured they'd only serve as painful reminders of what he had lost. Of the what could've been's.

He was wondering what Jules would say if he took the liberty to put her picture on his desk. _'Hey, sweetheart, look what I got here!'. _He would _love_ to see her reaction. He might earn a bruise or two, but it would be worth it.

Still thinking about what version of hell his _girlfriend_ would give him for what should have been an affectionate gesture, Sam absently unlocked the second drawer and revealed a cherry wooden box. His fingers made invisible circles over the surface before gently sliding the lid open. Laying elegantly and somewhat dangerously inside the red velvet interior was a 'vintage colt, pearl grips', as he had told Jules a while back.

He had made several attempts to name the revolver, but given up at all occasions. It was a gun; a deadly weapon meant to exterminate and not some cuddly stuffed animal. Even when he was a kid his teddy bear was simply named Junior. A creative strike was just something that he didn't possess.

As far as names were concerned though…

"_It has no name, but I'd call it The Peacemaker some days," Edmund Braddock said. The colt looked significantly strong and _young_ in his wrinkled, thin hand. His limbs were shaking from his treatment but the grip he had on the gun was firm. "Name means power, you know? When you name something, you give it power, an identity. That's why you don't want to name your kid Boyle, just in case the kids at school decide to act like kids and call her pimple. Or Shane Oliver Braddock. You might as well tattoo the words S.O.B. on his forehead." He finished before cackling some more and had to take a sip of his water to calm his throat. _

_Sam looked at his grandfather with amusement; ill and old, yet still pulsating with timeless determination. Coming from a long line of police officers, Edmund Braddock was the senior general badass in the family. Unlike Sam's father, however, Edmund wasn't really an arrogant asshole. _

"_Some believe that naming their things will create stronger bonds with them, which makes sense, I suppose. Still, I probably think that my guns have souls, but I'd like to think even more that my boys have personalities,"_

_He leaned back more against the pillow. Everybody hated hospitals and he was no exception, but after the fourth or fifth come-back he had begun to crack a joke about it."Tell you what, I used to have a Marlin 60 I occasionally called Kathy, in honor of Miss Katherine Johnson, Bradford now, who went to school with me. She's such a pretty little thing with lots of hate in her. It just seemed appropriate. I took down lots of moose with it. She's unforgiving and didn't hesitate."_

"_She who?" Sam was grinning now. _

"_Both." Edmund answered and their laughter beat the steady beeping tone of the heart-monitor. He looked down at the colt with eyes of a proud father and for a long time remained quiet. "You go home in one piece, Sammy. Outlive those Al-Qaeda and this will be yours. A welcome home present, if you will." _

_When their eyes met once again, Sam could have sworn he saw a glitter of tears in his eyes. He didn't say anything about it._

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Startled, Sam looked up, finding Jules leaning casually against the doorway with a mug of steaming coffee cupped in her hands. She wore an old shirt of hers that was a few sizes too big and nothing else. She definitely didn't mind that the heater was out of service.

He smiled at the picture she presented. "Looks like you have made yourself at home."

"I hope you didn't mind," Jules sheepishly gestured at the evening drink and stepped into the room. Her face visibly brightened when she saw the antique weapon on the table. "Is that the infamous colt?" She perched on the edge of the table, the hem of her shirt riding up high on her legs. "I thought it was just a myth."

"It would be if you shot me dead then and there back then." Sam chuckled.

"May I?" Jules reached out a slender hand.

Sam handed the colt wordlessly, watching her appear almost afraid to touch it. Jules handled the gun delicately.

"It's beautiful, Sam. Where'd you get it?" She asked, still slightly amazed, as she studied the finely executed engraving decoration closely. She bet the colt was older than General Braddock (no, she'd never had the pleasure to see him yet and honestly wasn't really looking forward to it), and it's very unlikely that Sam could have afforded such a collection.

She didn't even try to mask her stunned expression and it put a smile on his face. "It belonged to my grandfather. The Peacemaker."

Her eyes flickered with undisguised interest. "Let's keep the peace?"

"Talking about coincidence."

"Not really," A small frown creased her forehead and she pushed a strand of fallen hair off her eyes. "I'd rather call it faith. There's no such thing as coincidence, it's just what it is and you are where you are. Are you happy?"

His answer was a squeeze on her hand.

"When Grandpa was no older than I am right now, two of his best buds were having a bit of a quarrel," Sam reclined back in his chair and drank a bit of Jules' coffee. His grimace didn't go unnoticed and Jules gave him –the- look. He might adore her for a lot of things, but her coffee preferences weren't one of them. He shot her an apologetic lopsided grin. "It's the usual stuff; one beautiful girl with two very interested gentlemen who just so happened to be best friends. There's a bit of a misunderstanding and the two got into a fight, physical fight. Grandpa was just sitting there under the huge oak tree, waiting for them to punch the hell out of each other. He said that love was blind and sometimes one or two extra punches were all it took to clear the heads."

"John, that's the first guy's name, grabbed the gun laying on the ground. Even until now I'm not sure that Grandpa didn't leave it there on purpose. It's just something that he would do, undoubtedly,"

Jules winced. "John shot the other guy?"

"Well, he took the gun out of rage and aimed it at Mike. It would have been a clean shot. They're only five feet apart with nothing between them."

"Would have been?"

"John shot twice and twice nothing happened."

"_Shut up_!"

Sam laughed and leaned down to press a kiss on her knee. "Grandpa swore to me he'd loaded the gun with real bullets, but I'm sure it's loaded with blanks."

"And then what?"

"Both John and Mike were surprised, well obviously, and relieved for Mike, that is, after the shock faded-,"

Jules shifted till she faced him fully, one hand raising to stop him from continuing. "Let me guess what happened next. They all laughed it out and trashed the poor girl, talking about how their friendship meant more than some woman over lots and lots _and _lots of beers."

"Mike actually married the girl just two years later, with John as his bestman," Sam concluded, glad to receive such an eager response. "That's what I was told anyway."

Jules chuckled over the scenario. "Okay, so a peacemaker _and_ a matchmaker."

"Yeah well, you can say that again," Sam began, lazily trailing his fingers over the exposed flesh of her leg. "It's how it started for us."

Jules was sure that the gun wasn't loaded (it would certainly weight more if it was) but checked out the bullet chambers nonetheless. A second later she released the safety and pointed the gun at his head like she had done a few months ago in front of The Royal York. Like '_how it had started for them_', in Sam's words.

Unlike he had been though, his lips curled into a smirk.

"Put your hands where I can see them." The command came out softly, a matching smirk was found on her face.

Without so much of a protest, Sam removed his hands from her thighs and lifted his arms up. "Didn't get to see a lady sniper too often, that's kind of sexy."

Jules conveniently slid down into his lap and straddled him. "The line's getting old, Sam."

"Are you sure you can handle _my _colt, Jules?" It was an innocent question, but there's definitely nothing innocent about how close they're pressed together. One of his hands had sneaked to the small of her back, gently rubbing the soft skin he found there. "No pun intended."

Jules rolled her eyes. "I can proof it to you if you want."

"Be my guess."

It was dark now and droplets of rain were still running down the windows in silver rivulets that reflected the light from the street lamps. In one of the buildings, the light went off.

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